The Ragged Trousered Philanthropists Part 62

'Our next scene is called "The Rival Candidates, or, a Scene during the General Election". On the left you will observe, standin' up in a motor car, a swell bloke with a eyegla.s.s stuck in one eye, and a overcoat with a big fur collar and cuffs, addressing the crowd: this is the Honourable Augustus Slumrent, the Conservative candidate. On the other side of the road we see another motor car and another swell bloke with a round pane of gla.s.s in one eye and a overcoat with a big fur collar and cuffs, standing up in the car and addressin' the crowd. This is Mr Mandriver, the Liberal candidate. The crowds of shabby-lookin'

chaps standin' round the motor cars wavin' their 'ats and cheerin' is workin' men. Both the candidates is tellin' 'em the same old story, and each of 'em is askin' the workin' men to elect 'im to Parlimint, and promisin' to do something or other to make things better for the lower horders.'

As an appropriate selection to go with this picture, Bert played the tune of a popular song, the words being well known to the children, who sang enthusiastically, clapping their hands and stamping their feet on the floor in time with the music:

'We've both been there before, Many a time, many a time!

We've both been there before, Many a time!

Where many a gallon of beer has gone.

To colour his nose and mine, We've both been there before, Many a time, many a time!'

At the conclusion of the singing, Bert turned another picture into view.

''Ere we 'ave another election scene. At each side we see the two candidates the same as in the last pitcher. In the middle of the road we see a man lying on the ground, covered with blood, with a lot of Liberal and Tory working men kickin' 'im, jumpin' on 'im, and stampin'

on 'is face with their 'obnailed boots. The bloke on the ground is a Socialist, and the reason why they're kickin' 'is face in is because 'e said that the only difference between Slumrent and Mandriver was that they was both alike.'

While the audience were admiring this picture, Bert played another well-known tune, and the children sang the words:

'Two lovely black eyes, Oh what a surprise!

Only for telling a man he was wrong, Two lovely black eyes.'

Bert continued to turn the handles of the rollers and a long succession of pictures pa.s.sed across the stage, to the delight of the children, who cheered and sang as occasion demanded, but the most enthusiastic outburst of all greeted the appearance of the final picture, which was a portrait of the King. Directly the children saw it--without waiting for the band--they gave three cheers and began to sing the chorus of the National Anthem.

A round of applause for Bert concluded the Pandorama performance; the lamp and the candles of the Christmas tree were relit--for although all the toys had been taken off, the tree still made a fine show with the s.h.i.+ning gla.s.s ornaments--and then they had some more games; blind man's buff, a tug-of-war--in which Philpot was defeated with great laughter--and a lot of other games. And when they were tired of these, each child 'said a piece' or sung a song, learnt specially for the occasion. The only one who had not come prepared in this respect was little Rosie, and even she--so as to be the same as the others--insisted on reciting the only piece she knew. Kneeling on the hearthrug, she put her hands together, palm to palm, and shutting her eyes very tightly she repeated the verse she always said every night before going to bed:

'Gentle Jesus, meek and mild, Look on me, a little child.

Pity my simplicity, Suffer me to come to Thee.'

Then she stood up and kissed everyone in turn, and Philpot crossed over and began looking out of the window, and coughed, and blew his nose, because a nut that he had been eating had gone down the wrong way.

Most of them were by this time quite tired out, so after some supper the party broke up. Although they were nearly all very sleepy, none of them were very willing to go, but they were consoled by the thought of another entertainment to which they were going later on in the week--the Band of Hope Tea and Prize Distribution at the s.h.i.+ning Light Chapel.

Bert undertook to see Elsie and Charley safely home, and Philpot volunteered to accompany Nellie and Tommy Newman, and to carry Rosie, who was so tired that she fell asleep on his shoulder before they left the house.

As they were going down the stairs Frankie held a hurried consultation with his mother, with the result that he was able to shout after them an invitation to come again next Christmas.

Chapter 30

The Brigands hold a Council of War

It being now what is usually called the festive season--possibly because at this period of the year a greater number of people are suffering from hunger and cold than at any other time--the reader will not be surprised at being invited to another little party which took place on the day after the one we have just left. The scene was Mr Sweater's office. Mr Sweater was seated at his desk, but with his chair swung round to enable him to face his guests--Messrs Rushton, Didlum, and Grinder, who were also seated.

'Something will 'ave to be done, and that very soon,' Grinder was saying. 'We can't go on much longer as we're doing at present. For my part, I think the best thing to do is to chuck up the sponge at once; the company is practically bankrupt now, and the longer we waits the worser it will be.'

'That's just my opinion,' said Didlum dejectedly. 'If we could supply the electric light at the same price as gas, or a little cheaper, we might have some chance; but we can't do it. The fact is that the machinery we've got is no dam good; it's too small and it's wore out, consequently the light we supply is inferior to gas and costs more.'

'Yes, I think we're fairly beaten this time,' said Rushton. 'Why, even if the Gas Coy hadn't moved their works beyond the borough boundary, still we shouldn't 'ave been hable to compete with 'em.'

'Of course not,' said Grinder. 'The truth of the matter is just wot Didlum says. Our machinery is too small, it's worn hout, and good for nothing but to be throwed on the sc.r.a.p-heap. So there's only one thing left to do and that is--go into liquidation.'

'I don't see it,' remarked Sweater.

'Well, what do you propose, then?' demanded Grinder. 'Reconstruct the company? Ask the shareholders for more money? Pull down the works and build fresh, and buy some new machinery? And then most likely not make a do of it after all? Not for me, old chap! I've 'ad enough. You won't catch me chuckin' good money after bad in that way.'

'Nor me neither,' said Rushton.

'Dead orf!' remarked Didlum, very decidedly.

Sweater laughed quietly. 'I'm not such a fool as to suggest anything of that sort,' he said. 'You seem to forget that I am one of the largest shareholders myself. No. What I propose is that we Sell Out.'

'Sell out!' replied Grinder with a contemptuous laugh in which the others joined. 'Who's going to buy the shares of a concern that's practically bankrupt and never paid a dividend?'

'I've tried to sell my little lot several times already,' said Didlum with a sickly smile, 'but n.o.body won't buy 'em.'

'Who's to buy?' repeated Sweater, replying to Grinder. 'The munic.i.p.ality of course! The ratepayers. Why shouldn't Mugsborough go in for Socialism as well as other towns?'

Rushton, Didlum and Grinder fairly gasped for breath: the audacity of the chief's proposal nearly paralysed them.

'I'm afraid we should never git away with it,' e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed Didlum, as soon as he could speak. 'When the people tumbled to it, there'd be no hend of a row.'

'PEOPLE! ROW!' replied Sweater, scornfully. 'The majority of the people will never know anything about it! Listen to me--'

'Are you quite sure as we can't be over'eard?' interrupted Rushton, glancing nervously at the door and round the office.

'It's all right,' answered Sweater, who nevertheless lowered his voice almost to a whisper, and the others drew their chairs closer and bent forward to listen.

'You know we still have a little money in hand: well, what I propose is this: At the annual meeting, which, as you know, comes off next week, we'll arrange for the Secretary to read a highly satisfactory report, and we'll declare a dividend of 15 per cent--we can arrange it somehow between us. Of course, we'll have to cook the accounts a little, but I'll see that it's done properly. The other shareholders are not going to ask any awkward questions, and we all understand each other.'

Sweater paused, and regarded the other three brigands intently. 'Do you follow me?' he asked.

'Yes, yes,' said Didlum eagerly. 'Go on with it.' And Rushton and Grinder nodded a.s.sent.

'Afterwards,' resumed Sweater, 'I'll arrange for a good report of the meeting to appear in the Weekly Ananias. I'll instruct the Editor to write it himself, and I'll tell him just what to say. I'll also get him to write a leading article about it, saying that electricity is sure to supersede gas for lighting purposes in the very near future.

Then the article will go on to refer to the huge profits made by the Gas Coy and to say how much better it would have been if the town had bought the gasworks years ago, so that those profits might have been used to reduce the rates, the same as has been done in other towns.

Finally, the article will declare that it's a great pity that the Electric Light Supply should be in the hands of a private company, and to suggest that an effort be made to acquire it for the town.

'In the meantime we can all go about--in a very quiet and judicious way, of course--bragging about what a good thing we've got, and saying we don't mean to sell. We shall say that we've overcome all the initial expenses and difficulties connected with the installation of the works--that we are only just beginning to reap the reward of our industry and enterprise, and so on.

'Then,' continued the Chief, 'we can arrange for it to be proposed in the Council that the Town should purchase the Electric Light Works.'

'But not by one of us four, you know,' said Grinder with a cunning leer.

'Certainly not; that would give the show away at once. There are, as you know--several members of the Band who are not shareholders in the company; we'll get some of them to do most of the talking. We, being the directors of the company, must pretend to be against selling, and stick out for our own price; and when we do finally consent we must make out that we are sacrificing our private interests for the good of the Town. We'll get a committee appointed--we'll have an expert engineer down from London--I know a man that will suit our purpose admirably--we'll pay him a trifle and he'll say whatever we tell him to--and we'll rush the whole business through before you can say "Jack Robinson", and before the rate-payers have time to realize what's being done. Not that we need worry ourselves much about them. Most of them take no interest in public affairs, but even if there is something said, it won't matter much to us once we've got the money. It'll be a nine days' wonder and then we'll hear no more of it.'

As the Chief ceased speaking, the other brigands also remained silent, speechless with admiration of his cleverness.

'Well, what do you think of it?' he asked.